


Seven Christmas Traditions

by Schuyler



Category: Spring Break Anthem (Music Video)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuyler/pseuds/Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best thing about a family of choice is that you can pick and choose which traditions to bring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Christmas Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleanor_lavish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/gifts).



> For my bestie Eleanor at Christmas. This comes from our expanded Spring Break Anthem universe, by which I mean shouting at each other about how Jorma makes people go to stupid art shows and Dave Franco is in the corner rolling his eyes 100% of the time.

**1 - Ed**

The secret fact of the matter was that Ed hated most of his family. When you eliminated the homophobes, the ones who thought he was wasting his life in public service, the gun nut (his cousin Teddy, who was creepy as fuck), and the vocal minority who thought he had married beneath him, there was no one left but Aunt Jan. And now there was no Aunt Jan. He and Jorma went up for the funeral, but by the end of two days of thinly-veiled sneers, squabbling over the jewelry, and Jorma’s polite “go fuck yourself!” smile, Ed was ready to set Providence on fire. He was sure as fuck not going back for Christmas.

For all that Ed thought their weird little clique was the strangest group of people that he knew, there was no doubt that they circled the wagons for him. He and Jorma returned home to a still warm meatloaf in the oven and a bottle of red open to breathe, plus a condolence card and a demand that Ed call if he needed anything. Over the ensuing weeks, Ed had found himself dragged to zero weird art things, taken out a couple of times by Akiva to talk nerd shit, and been forced into a spa day with Zach, which had been nicer than he cared to admit.

However, Ed wasn’t stupid. He could see all of their well-meaning scheming for what it was. And he was immediately on edge the first Sunday brunch after they returned from the Taccone Family Thanksgiving. Zach and James kept trading looks. But he waited them out. Finally, Zach casually set down his mimosa and said, “So, do you guys know what you’re doing for Christmas?”

Ed looked at Jorma, who shrugged. “Nope. I think we’re staying here.”

“Great! Because James and I were thinking we should spend it together. The eight of us. Anyway, I already told my mom we’re not coming and so did James. It’ll be fun! I figured we could all share our traditions.” Ed squinted. Zach hadn’t breathed once.

He glanced again at Jorma, who squeezed his thigh and smiled. “Sure,” Ed said, and he realized he was smiling too.

 

**2 - Andy**

In a flurry of emails over the next few weeks (which Ed set to auto-archive), it had been decided that Christmas would happen at Ed and Jorma’s, they’d all sleep over on Christmas Eve, and everyone had to pick a Christmas tradition to share.

Andy and Zach arrived last on the night, after Alison had tacked everyone’s tiny stockings under the tv and the Francos had been forced to change into the Christmas pajamas their grandmother had sent. “Bam, here’s a tradition,” Andy said, brandishing two boxes. “Motherfucking Hanukkah. And looks like you bitches are in luck, ‘cause it’s the eighth fucking night.”

There were hugs to give out and presents to tuck under the tree before Andy could sit down and set up his tiny menorah full of multicolored birthday candles. “We had to get them at Duane Reade,” Zach said, passing out a box of donuts.

“Okay!” Andy said. “Turn off the lights. Let me tell you about the Maccabees.” Andy lit the first seven candles while he explained the story of Hanukkah, and everyone paused what they were doing on the eighth to listen to his careful recitation of the prayer.

Afterward, all of them sitting on the sofas, holding on to each others’ hands, they let the silence stretch out, savoring the glow of the candles in the cold, dark winter.

Zach kissed behind Andy’s ear. “That was lovely.”   
  
“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Alison said. She was so sincere that Andy smiled.

“Your turn next, I think,” he told Zach.

“You just want my goodies.”

“Always.” He leaned back and got a couple more kisses before Zach got up.

 

**3 - Zach**

On Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve, Zach had taken the day off to receive delivery of his mother’s Christmas package. Along with hand-knit sweaters for himself and Andy, there was also a cooler full of dry ice surrounding two pints of sheep’s milk. This was the secret ingredient in her eggnog.

There were a ton of other ingredients too: whole milk, nutmeg, cloves, allspice, blackstrap molasses, imported rum, but it wasn’t the same without the contribution from her flock of two.

He’d spent all of that night working on it, hovering over a simmering soup pot and tasting and retasting until it was just right. He wouldn’t even let Andy tempt him away. And sliding his arms around Zach from behind and nuzzling the back of his neck had only gotten him whacked with a wooden spoon.

But Andy had returned without complaint to help Zach pour the eggnog into jugs and stock the fridge full of it, then haul the cold eggnog all the way to Chelsea. After they’d finished pouring the first gallon into a pitcher, Zach had kissed Andy’s cheek. “You’re the best husband ever.”

“I know.” That just got Andy’s bottom pinched.

“Come and get it!” Zach yelled. They’d dug every mug out of Ed and Jorma’s cabinets and filled them almost to the top.

“Eggnog is usually kinda gross,” Dave said after his first sip. “But this is good. Kinda interesting, you know?”

“Drink it up,” Andy said. “If you let it get warm, you’ll realize how crazy alcoholic it is.”

Dave shrugged and was in the middle of his next sip when Alison shouted, “Dave! Help now!”

Andy motioned a whip cracking and got a raised middle finger in response.

 

**4 - Alison**

Alison was aware that her family was basically a Norman Rockwell painting. It was her chafing at the closeness and the perfection that had pushed her to go to college in New York. And it was that picturesqueness that made it such a joy to go home for the holidays. But this year, she was glad to try out Christmas with her family of choice. And once her mom had heard about Ed’s Aunt Jan, and clucked her tongue over a family not willing to accept two boys as in love as Ed and Jorma, she’d started mailing cookies and telling the rest of the family that Alison was needed in New York.

(A year and a half prior, when Alison’s parents had come to visit and meet Dave, Alison had been called away for a client crisis and Ed had offered to take her parents on a tour of City Hall and out to lunch with Jorma. They’d even met the mayor! So the Bries thought Ed was perfect and he and Jorm were perfect together.)

To assemble her tradition, Alison and Dave had rented a car and driven out to the biggest Michael’s in the tri-state area. Then he’d watched basketball while she’d disappeared into her office for two hours to prepare.

So, when everyone had their nog, they were ushered into the dining room, where Alison had covered the table in plastic and was beaming over a smorgasbord of craft supplies. “In my family, the day after Thanksgiving, we each make an ornament to symbolize everything we experienced this year.” She explained the available methods, the traditional decoupage versus the hip new confetti-filled method, while everyone else started pawing through the papers on the table. In addition to the ribbons and stickers from Michael’s, Alison had printed pictures from their Instagrams, of Andy and Zach at Fire Island and James and Dave in Montreal, of Andy, Jorm, and Kiv in ridiculous novelty glasses at New Year’s and Dave getting felt up by a drag queen at the Halloween parade. She’d even included the Times blurb on Ed’s promotion and a glowing review of the play James had directed.

“Babe,” Dave said, looping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

She sat beside him, letting the boys bicker over craft supplies, and covered her own ornament with pictures of all of them and the word “family.” All of the ornaments were hung on the tree, even the one Akiva had abandoned in the middle because he was hopeless at crafts and instead went around refilling eggnog and eating cookies.

Dave’s ornament just had a picture of the the two of them, surrounded by swirly designs in sparkly marker. He stood behind her as she hung it, the last one, and then folded her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. Alison was glad she’d stayed.

 

**5 - James and Dave**

The nog was starting to hit, so Dave pulled away from Alison. “Okay, our turn.” James led everyone to the living room while Dave went to the guest room to get something out of his bag. He and James stood in front of the mantel and Dave couldn’t hide his grin. “So,” he said, “our mom is an actress, and like real fucking serious about it, so on Christmas Eve, we always gather after dinner to read a play. I just wanted to ask Grandma to send her butter cookies, but I got outvoted.”

“I’m the oldest,” James says, gleefully. “And you guys will see, it’s so much fun!”

“As a consolation prize, I got to pick the play. I have chosen _Our Own_.”

They all watched the blood drain out of James’ face. “No!”

“This one-act,” Dave went on, “was written by a fourteen-year old James Franco for a contest. It is a meditation on love and the difficulty of familial expectations. It came in sixth. Out of eight.”

“Where did you even get this?” James asked, whining even as he took his copy.

“Mom. She keeps everything we touch.”

“Is it too late to get some of those cookies instead?”

“Ali, will you read the stage directions?”

She took a copy from him and cleared her throat. “Interior, Edwardian drawing room.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dave said as James pounded his cup of nog and then stole Akiva’s. “For some reason, it’s set in 1901 and everyone’s British.”

“Seated in two chairs center stage are Lord Hector Abbleforth Smythe and his nephew Alastair.” James could tell that Akiva was trying not to laugh, so he pinched him. That just made Akiva lean over and hook a hand in James’ back pocket.

“But my boy!” Dave said in an accent best described as “fucking ridiculous.” “You have duties! Since my own son died in that tragic horse-riding crash, you have been the heir to the Abbleforth Smythe name and title!”

James took a step back and Akiva, notorious lightweight, wrapped his arms all the way around James’ middle and mushed his face into James’ back. James smiled. If he could trust the secret of his terrible early writing to anyone, it was these guys. His guys. “I’ve told you before, I care not one whit about land or title! I’ve dedicated myself to pure love and I won’t be married to someone I am not mad for.” Akiva made a snuffling noise and James turned just enough to scratch his scalp.

“Lord Abbleforth Smythe rises and goes to the bar at stage left,” Alison read. She’d sunk into the sofa next to Zach, both of them with their Christmas-socked feet on the stunningly expensive coffee table. Dave had a long soliloquy then about family and the importance of marrying well, so James could take a moment to turn around, press his forehead to Akiva’s, and smile.

 

**6 - Akiva**

By the time the play was over, fifteen minutes and four speeches later, Akiva was clinging to James’ back like an octopus, one hand slowly sliding under James’ shirt. He wasn’t asleep, he was talking to Jorma about the two plays deemed worse than _Our Own_ , but he also wasn’t letting go. “Kiv, you’re up!” Andy called.   
  
Akiva used on hand to flail at the TV while James shoved himself down into Akiva’s armchair. “I brought our movie.”

Dave found it and made a face. “Indiana Jones?”

Akiva grinned and tucked his legs over James’ lap. “We watch one every year. In order, of course, so this year is Last Crusade.”

“Nerds raising nerds,” James murmured, kissing Akiva’s temple.

“This is gonna sound like blasphemy,” Zach said, the rum bringing out his accent. “But I have never seen this movie.” Everyone gasped. “I’m sorry!”

“I’m the worst husband,” Andy said. He slid his hand into Zach’s under the blanket they shared.

“Yup!” Akiva said cheerfully.

Ed refilled the nog cups before Jorma dragged him down into the sofa. “Movie time.” Ed rolled his eyes, but he let Jorma arrange a blanket over them and curl up against his side.

Akiva tucked his chin over James’ shoulder and rested his hands on James’ stomach under his ironic Christmas pajamas. His family wasn’t big; Christmas Eve was usually just his parents, his aunt and her partner, and the dog, but this was always his favorite part, sitting in the dark, lit by the tree, cuddled up with a movie. “It’s better now,” he mumbled into James’ neck, with no preamble. “Because of you.”

 

**7 - Jorma**

When the movie was over (and the eggnog gone), it was clearly bedtime, since Akiva and Alison were already asleep. Jorma, a perfect host even after midnight on Christmas Eve, got James and Akiva back into the guest room, pulled out the sofa in the office for Alison and Dave, and provided sheets for Zach and Andy’s air mattress. Ed loaded the dishwasher, took the garbage to the chute by the elevators, and made sure they had everything they needed for the planned breakfast.

Ed and Jorma then got ready for bed just like always, ducking and sliding around each other as they brushed their teeth, washed their faces, and took off their clothes. When they were finally in bed, Ed down to his shorts and Jorma naked as a jaybird, they could finally reach for each other and exhale.

They kissed, but it wasn’t the goodnight kiss Ed was used to. This was Jorma trying to turn him on, sliding his body against Ed’s and mouthing at the base of his throat. “So,” Jorma purred, pushing Ed onto his back. “My tradition.” Ed lifted an eyebrow. “I thought we could start some traditions of our own, since this is the first Christmas Eve we’ve slept in the same bed.” Ed blinked as Jorma straddled him, naked and golden in the reading light. It didn’t seem like it could be true, but it was. They’d spent Christmas with their respective families until they were engaged, then the two since then in Providence, where Ed’s grandmother, the clan matriarch, put them in separate rooms.

Then, Jorma shifted back, over Ed’s cock, and he abruptly stopped thinking at all. At least thinking about anything but Jorma. Ed ran a slow, appreciative hand up Jorma’s chest, then hooked it behind his head and pulled him down for another kiss. This time, Ed knew what was going on and he was on board. He rolled his hips up and swallowed Jorma’s whimper. “What did you have in mind?” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly in the way that always meant sex.

Jorma bit his lip and twisted a little, rubbing his cock against Ed’s stomach. “I want you to fuck me.”

Ed’s free hand cupped Jorma’s ass and he smirked. “Might need a little help first.”

Jorma kissed him again, this time leaving marks with his teeth, and slid down to pull off Ed’s shorts. He took hold of Ed’s cock and made sure Ed was watching before he licked from base to tip, making Ed shudder. Jorma responded by sliding his mouth over the head of Ed’s cock, working hand and mouth in tandem to get Ed worked up. Jorma listened for his breath, as it sped up, and cupped a hand around his balls to see how close he was. When he felt Ed was ready, he pulled off with a pop and a licked his lips. “Baby,” Ed said, sounding pained.

Jorma ignored him and went for the lube. This was a particular kink of Ed’s and he wasn’t going to pass up the chance on Christmas. He coated his fingers and set the bottle where Ed couldn’t reach it, then leaned back a little to slide a finger into himself. Ed sucked in a breath and Jorma moaned. Ed watched, completely focused, as Jorma went from one finger to two to three, his hips rocking back and forth, fucking his fingers. “Christ, I love you,” Ed said, and Jorma laughed.

“You say the sweetest things.” He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on Ed’s shorts, and then lined up. “Are you ready for me?”

“Jorma,” Ed said, nearly begging. Jorma bit his lip to stifle a laugh and rocked down, letting the first inch slip inside. The stretch was so good, the part that felt like a workout, grounded him in his body so he couldn’t think of anything else. Ed’s hands clamped around his hips. Jorma started to slide down, nice and easy, but when the thick head of Ed’s cock dragged across his prostate, he made a sound like getting punched, his whole body tensing up. Ed lifted his hips and pulled out again to make Jorma make that noise again. “So fucking hot,” he said, pulling Jorma down hard until their bodies were flush. “Come on, baby.”

Jorma hit a point, every time they had sex, where he just caved and let Ed take over. When they’d first started dating, it was almost immediate, but now he could make Ed work for it. He slid up and down, as slowly as possible, biting his lip and trying not to shake from the intensity of it. When he was all the way up, as far as he could go, Ed slammed up again, making Jorma’s toes curl. When Ed was flat on the bed, Jorma pushed down all the way and then it was Ed’s turn to swear and moan.

They traded thrusts like that until Jorma couldn’t take it anymore, put his hands on Ed’s chest to keep him down, and just started rocking back and forth on him, twisting his hips so that Ed hit all the right spots. Jorma hadn’t picked this position on a whim; Ed had told him that he liked this best, when he felt like Jorma was just using him, like a toy.

Jorma’s huffs of breath got closer and closer together. “Fuck, Ed,” he groaned, slamming his hips back hard over and over. “You feel so good.” He didn’t tell Ed how he was close to coming, because he knew that Ed already knew, and he didn’t mention what he needed, because Ed knew that too. He held onto Jorma’s thighs and started pushing up again, chasing his own pleasure.

“Baby,” he said, and then a moment later he was throwing his head back and coming deep inside Jorma, cock twitching and face slack with bliss. Jorma just kept moving, feeling Ed’s cock still inside of him, slick with his come. When he was still breathing hard, still in the aftershocks, Ed pulled Jorma off, took his cock in hand, and growled while he jerked Jorma off. It only took three twisting strokes before Jorma made a low, desperate noise and then came, painting Ed from the collarbone down.

He collapsed after that, letting Ed take his weight and arrange him on the bed, the two of them cuddled close together. “So this is our tradition?” Ed asked, and Jorma laughed.

“Yup. Every Christmas Eve, you fuck me until I see stars.”

“We could do worse.”

 


End file.
